PM to join Nothing Is Sacred (Coryn)

[Konrad Venger]

That moment, Konrad would have given an awful lot to have been able to hate that fucking freak with the horns. Unfortunately for him, his soul wasn't quite following his mind's instructions.

And since when did you think about your petching soul?!

The voice came from Fangor, of course, echoed and championed in tone by the bloody survivors around him. Konrad counted them in a flash. Four out of the ten sellswords they'd taken with them. Fucking pretenders to Knightdom the guards may have been, armor and desperation are effective partners in a fight. But Konrad didn't their losses would be that bad...

... and now, it may work in your favor. Once they see her, they may try to take her. Three Eyes is here. Little runt shyke always survives. He'll back you. The Younger, maybe. You three could end Fangor and the others, then you could-

"Venger?! Cheva's Cunt, man, are you wounded or something?!"

Konrad snapped back to the present with a rush of breath through his nostrils and a quick shake of his head. Fangor and the rest were half-watching, half-leering at him. The line of trembling, bloodied, sobbing figures on their knees didn't do either. They stared at the ground and Konrad likewise ignored them, the same way another would ignore a quiet parcel of sheep.

"Aye," he said, showing his blood-soaked jacket sleeve. "Bastard got past me."

"Gettin' old."

"Fuck you, Eyes."

"Fuck both of you," Fangor said with a laugh that shook his guts and his shoulders and rolled out of his mouth like mirthful thunder. "But less for you, Venger. Take a looksie..."

The slaver spread his arms like a man displaying his wares, and now Konrad took a moment to survey the spoils of his plan. Eight survivors were on the ground. Five women. Two men. One child. Konrad stepped closer and the trembling mass hugged his mother closely, protectively... and he frowned when the woman seemed to scold him under her breath, voice harsh and chiding.

Something of Konrad's old nature arose as he regarded the group. Already iron was gleaming dully on their wrists. They knew what the price of this was, and Konrad could tell...

"Fine haul, eh?"

"Ah, you'd think," Fangor said with a sigh, scratching his beard and flicking out... yes, that was a tooth. "But after the seven we take to replace the ones we've lost, there's still-"

"Nine."

"What? Can you not-"

"There's one more," Konrad said, and now he had to turn "it" on. He'd done so when that carter and those two foolish slaves tried to conspire for their freedom. Even before that, all those times when his brain had dragged him out of problems his fists and his blades had created. But this was... different. Bigger. Deeper. "Real beauty. Havin' a petching bath, if you can believe it. I'm guessin' that her? Worth a shyke-load. Perfect body-"

"Yeah-yeah-yeah," Fangor said, smile wide but eyes mocking, seeing through Konrad's patter like a parent talking to a sweet-talking child. "An' that's the end you want outta this, eh?"

"Tell me true, Fangor," Konrad said, spreading both his arms, a man with nothing to hide and a born liar, at the same time. "Would we be here without me convincin' youse?"

It was working. He could see it. Fangor knew the game, knew what he was playing at, but the truth mattered, even amongst sellswords. You pulled your weight and proved you could make money, that meant you were entitled to the spoils. Instead of rolling into Kenash several slaves light and disappointing whatever Brotherhood stooge from Sunberth waiting for them, Fangor would roll in with more cargo than expected, as well as a couple of especial specimens for the Auction House.

You won't get exactly what you want, but you'll get... some kind of preference. Something you can work with. It's either that or-

"Fuck me, look whut we foun'!"

Konrad's facade shattered before he even turned, even knew. What else could it be? He knew the hard voice; one of the sellswords, some Benshire half-breed whose name he never got. His head snapped around and there was another, too. Six had lived, not four. Two had gone roaming, scouring the debris and the devastation for whatever they'd missed... and they'd found a bathtub.

He forced himself to remain stoic. Not shocked. Not stunned. Not... saddened? Gods, was that even a word he would use, would recognize? He fell back on those he did. Angered. Annoyed. Frustrated. He ground his teeth beyond his misshapen lips and whipped his mind into higher function, quicker resolution, as he-

-and Fangor-

-and all-

-saw the slumped, shuddering creature with gorgeous horns like trapped aurora borealis spiraling from her head, shaking and wincing as waves of unblemished lust ripped into her from the men gripping her arms-

"Ivak's Teeth," Fangor muttered, face and jaw as slack as a Myrian in the presence of the Goddess-Queen Herself. "It's a sodding Ethaefal..."

[Coryn]

There was little Coryn could do but wait, still submerged in her pillowy bath that was starting to slowly cool. Peering cautiously over the edge of the tub, she noticed that the fire that had previously been heating her bath had been put out. This irked her more so than it should have. People she knew were being killed all around her, but Coryn was significantly more bothered by the sheer rudeness of whoever had doused the flames.

Can’t a woman bathe in peace?

Stupid question: of course she couldn’t.

She submerged her head into the cooling water one final time, her eyes flickering to a close as she floated serenely, surrounded by blood and dying men. The memory of the dead knight, whose blood and brains were no doubt mingled with her bath water, had all but faded from her mind. Survive. She needed to survive. Briefly the Ethaefal considered the many lessons she had been taught during her time in Syliras: how to pour a pint, how to stomp on grapes to squeeze out the juices in order to make wine, how to massage a foot to free someone of a migraine… They had all seemed so helpful and important at the time, crucial that she dedicate herself fully to the lesson.

And now?

Now she shook her head, resentful and bitter towards herself and those who had taught her such pointless lessons. Why had nobody told her about the geography of the Sea of Grass, or how to start a fire by herself or how to kill scarred-faced men who wore hats? What little knowledge she possessed to her name was useless to her right now.

Apart from…

Briar.

Why had she not thought of the Drykas until now? But truly Coryn was not surprised at her own selfishness. She enjoyed his company and kisses, and the dopey smile on his face whenever she paid him the slightest ounce of attention, but affection and friendship was something she failed to recognize. More accurately, she failed to appreciate the genuine care he felt for her. Instead, Coryn attributed his attraction and effort to please her as an effect of her gift from Nikali. Was that not the reason why the patrons of the Rearing Stallion in Syliras had told her their guilty secrets and hidden affairs? Briar was different, of course. He felt a pull towards Coryn that, until now, nobody else had. Perhaps they would be happy together, if they allowed their flirtations and quiets romps in he grass to mature into something more meaningful.

Of course, by the time Coryn would come to consider these possibilities, it would be too late.

But for now she lifted her head from the water, peered through narrowed eyes in search of any trace of the Drykas. She scanned both the living and the dead, but saw nobody who resembled her friend. None of the remaining horses were his Strider, either. Was that a good sign? Had he escaped, or had both rider and mount been killed and mutilated to such an extent they were no longer identifiable as a man and a horse?

She had no time to decide which outcome was most liekly: two men were striding, half-running, towards her tub. Coryn had been spotted, and she groaned and withdrew into the water irritably. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Two pairs of hands grabbed her forearms, hurling the Ethaefal out of the water and onto her feet, still in the tub. “Petchin’ hell!” One of the men said, but Coryn barely heard him. She twisted and writhed in their grip, a trapped little mouse being toyed with by two great tigers. Their desires were for bloodshed and victory, but slowly they gave way to something else. Something carnal. They younger of the men licked his lips hungrily as his blood-shot gaze drank in her dark, pearlescent skin. “What is it?” He asked luridly, though Coryn knew that he cared little for the name of her race.

“Let’s tek her t’Fangor.” His older, gruffer companion replied briskly. The two men lifted her up, Coryn’s willowy and long frame rising up from the water and over the edge of the bath. Her feet thudded to the red-stained ground and the woman, quite appalled at how she was being manhandled, stumbled and almost fell over. Their hands were all over her in an instant, groping her buttocks and her breasts in a loudly-stated act of helpin’ ya to yer feet, love. They laughed, and Coryn hated them and their moronic wants.

She was half-dragged across the camp to where a group of men had gathered. Though she feared for her life, Coryn was still battling with the desires that washed over her, and even her captors seemed to struggle to focus on simply standing there as they showed off their prize.

Someone, a larger and older man who she presumed was in charge, stepped forth and stated her race. This earned him a hard stare from the horned woman, but her attention was captured by something, someone, else.

“Venger.” She said to the familiar scarred face. Why exactly she was reaching out to the hideous male was unknown to Coryn, though he had been significantly less hands-on than the two who held onto her now. She writhed and twitched, desperate to make her way over to the male who now seemed like her only hope of staying alive. Her captors laughed at her feeble attempts, but Coryn did not give up squirming. Eventually, out of pure luck rather than skill or timing, she caught the younger of the male square on the nose with her elbow. He yelped like a child and both of his hands flew to his snout. The release of his grip sent Coryn colliding with the older, bearded kidnapper who subsequently jerked backwards and had to throw his arms outwards to avoid toppling over. In the tick that she found herself free, Coryn yanked herself from her captors and, in long-legged strides, hurled herself towards the man she knew as Venger. “I hid, I did. But they found me anyway.” She claimed desperately, her hands pulling at his clothes like a lost child. Her words tumbled out like a madwoman, but in the tick that followed her demeanor changed from desperate and needy to calculated. She leaned towards him, lips close to his ear and breath heavy. “Protect me. I am more than worth the trouble.”

For a newly made slave, Coryn certainly had a demanding streak.

[Konrad Venger]

“Venger.”

Konrad tried to marshal his thoughts, form a new plan, but nothing was coming. His wits were dammed and stymied as he stared at the girl between Vex and Hastus, naked as she'd been in the tub, looking on the verge of collapsing though he couldn't see any sign of-

Did they hurt her? Gods if they-

They haven't had time!

Konrad didn't have to shake his head that time to kill that damned, insidious... concern for this girl. It was an echo, not the report proper, a vague worry for a girl he'd known scant chimes and was already suspicious of. Casting his mind's eye back over that time, he could pinpoint the moment when he'd become so... overwhelmed. Not just aroused, but drawn to her, irresistibly and immutably, and along with it came feelings so rusty and dusty he'd no recognized them at first.

Now they were gone. That made Konrad not just suspicious, not just curious, but angry.

Mage. Had to be a-

Then she said his name.

"Youse know each other?"

You could have crafted a whole Sunberth ganger from the amount of menace that Fangor put into those four words. Konrad glanced at him and saw his face slide from magnanimous in victory to guarded, hostile, him and the clutch of men around him. Names? For your kidnappers? That wasn't the way it was done.

"She heard youse call me," Konrad blurted, then realized it was blurting and almost winced. "What's a-"

"Shyke!"

There was a ripple of laughter from the company as Vex's head snapped back with blood gushing from his nose. Hastus was chuckling along with them until his balance faltered and he let go, releasing the girl-

-Konrad's knees bent, ready to spring after-

-her-

-who flung herself at him, instead.

That would not help his chances with Fangor, he decided. She was warm and wet and soft in ways the Wolf Alley whores could only dream of being. For a moment his confusion and composure was blown away by the sheer... strangeness, of her. She whispered words to him and part of him long-buried wanted to reassure her, tell her it was okay, she was scared, tell her more than that-

She's doing it again, you fucking idiot!

Petching mages. An old hate came bubbling back up through those new, saccharine feelings and he grabbed her by the shoulders to shove her away, work out what to say to Fangor without this she-witch fucking with his head-

Then he saw her... shift. Like she was a mummer changes masques, costumes, demeanor. The desperate, gabbling, shaking girl vanished and from behind a curtain of gorgeous hair, someone much more careful and cunning looked back at him. She leaned close and curiosity stilled his hand, and he listened.

“Protect me. I am more than worth the trouble.”

Konrad believed it. And that was half the point.

"Venger, let go of the fucking-"

"Mage. She's a mage."

Fangor sighed like he was talking to a child, though it was more frustration that malice. He couldn't expect a street-raised Berth Bastard like Konrad to know about the Godlings; shyke, he barely knew about them, and in thirty years rolling around the world had only glimpsed them... twice. Exactly twice. Now thrice.

And fucked if I'm letting that payday get away from me.

"No, she's an Ethaefal. They're like... I dunno, they fell from the sky 'undreds of years ago or sumfin'."

"They make you care 'bout 'em?"

Fangor was starting to become concerned. He'd seen his lad go fool for a pretty slave before; start to question their life choices, as it were. Even had to put a few of them in the dirt when they went all love-nuts over some cunt who knew they could twist a sellsword around their finger. But he never expected that stone-cold bastard to turn.

He shifted where he stood and became the center of a blast that seemed to affect every man there. Sellswords are sensitive creatures when it comes to mortality and betrayal; those arrayed around Fangor, Konrad and the panting girl exchanged glances by torchlight, ignoring the shackled slaves. Lines were drawn. Allegiances made and questioned in glances. Hands slid close to swords in readiness for-

"Noooooo, they don't. They just look petching beautiful, y'know? Venger, leggo of the girl and-"

Konrad made his play. He grabbed the girl by the hand as Fangor put out his arm-

-and shoved it into Fangor's. One small and sleek, the other hairy and callused by hard decades, joined together and Fangor gasped-

Konrad grinned under his brim. He knew it. He fucking knew it.

"See?" He rasped as Fangor felt sensations rippling through him like warm winds across an icy pond. Konrad pressed his other hand to his shoulder as the caravan chief held onto the girl. He knew an "in" when he saw it. "You feel that? Feelin's, right? Not like yer cock twitching, either. More'n that. Like y'wanna... wanna protect 'er? Tell 'er things?"

He didn't know how else to phrase it, only that he had to. He remembered what he had felt, what he still felt the embers for, even though he wasn't touching her. Then he could see the same look of befuddled wonder in Fangor's eyes, so much that the mobilizing mercenaries had now drawn in closer to stare as well.

"She says she's worth trouble," Konrad said, steeling himself as he grabbed her wrist and jerked her hand away, shoving her down to the ground. "The way you said she's an... an... Aeth-Full? That makes 'er valuable, yes? Yes?"

Now Fangor was the one shaking his head, ghost of strange sensations still tugging at his will with wilting hands. Konrad pressed the advantage, the only one he had, pointing down at the girl either looking terrified, or very good at acting it.

"You felt that, aye?"

"Y... Yeah. I did."

"So will t'buyer, Fangor," Konrad said, coaxing his employer's smile with his own, inch by inch, all the while thinking just fucking agree with me, you prick! "How much for one a' her people?"

"Dunno... fifteen 'undred-"

Konrad tilted his head forward, words only for Fangor: "Twenty-five 'undred."

"What?!"

Ah, of course. The potential to profit broke through whatever djed or wyrd or magecraft the little bitch could work. Twenty-five hundred mizas? Gods, that was a year's wages, maybe two, and Konrad knew he had him hooked, but not on the deck. Not yet.

"That's how much y'could get f'her, boss, and y'know it, don'tcha? Aethfull-"

"Ethaefal."

"-either way, that's worth fifteen 'undred, jus' imagine what they'll pay when just touching 'er does that to ya? Sky's a' limit, Fangor... and she's ours, 'member? This lot-" he jerked his head at a couple of thousand of mizas worth of slaves like they were chaff from a mill "-makes up what we lost, what yer Brotherhood owns. But her?"

He moved in front of Fangor. Eclipsed the abandoned cooking fires now burning down, the scattered bodies and looming sellswords, everything but Konrad and his greed-soaked smile. The Sunberth boy flickered his fingers between them both, smile becoming conspiratorial.

"Fifty-fif... sixty-forty split, once we sell 'er. Like I said 'afore, not fer me, we wouldn't be here... but you're the boss, aye?"

Fangor licked his lips. Konrad didn't know if it was her cunt or her price that was making him sweat. Eventually that leonine head leaned forward a fraction and murmured: "Sixty-five, thirty-five."

Make it good.

"Boss, c'mon-"

He didn't have to try hard: he was being fucking shafted, so his indiognation was real, but he didn't fight it when Fangor's face hardened into the brutal bargaining mentality he'd had since he was a boy. So Konrad threw up a hand and it was done, the deal was made, the crisis was over.

For now.

"Girl goes wit' us," Venger said, loud enough to be heard by all, eyes on Fangor just in case he had to shut up and be overridden. "An' no-one touches her. What you touch her with, youse fuckin' lose. Not gonna sell soiled fuckin' goods in Kenash."

He cast his gaze around to see faces known and less so. Three Eyes just bobbed his head obediently, a loyal, predictable dog. The Drykas did the same after a moment; they knew Konrad, knew how dangerous he could be... and, frankly, they had working brains. They knew the logic and the Elder was already making vague motions and mumbles that told Konrad he didn't much like messing around with an... what was it... Ethaefal, anyway.

The others - Vex, Hastus, and Semyon - glared back with stony, smoldering hostility. All three had already worked out exactly how and when they'd break in that delightful cunny, and now she was off-limits. So they did what Konrad thought they'd do: looked to the man in charge.

"You heard 'im," Fangor said in a bass rumble. "Youse want to get yer cocks wet, take yer choice from them. Now hurry the fuck up and strip this place before we go."

Now, that order they understood just fine. Like ripples expanding out from a thrown stone they split up and ducked into tents, tearing opening chests, casting aside dresses and clothing and rummaging through any of the "usual" hiding places. A pair set to rounding up horses and mules; another was moving from corpse to corpse with forceps, prying opens mouths...

On his way to do his own bit of plundering, Konrad cast a look at Fangor, who'd torn his gaze away from the girl to supervise his men-

-started walking, passed the girl-

-waited until she glanced up at him-

"Bought us some time," he said in a ghost of a whisper. "Don't waste it. Long way to Kenash."

Konrad looked from her, to Fangor. She would see his face, without his hat to hide it, illuminated in every crevice and scar and crease by the fires. The way it shifted from pensive to feral, and finally the slight, bloody smile that twisted his lips and didn't reach his eyes. She may even have been glad he wasn't touching him at that moment... not that she needed to.

Any fool could see the intent stamped across his face. It was a long way to Kenash... and all sorts of accidents could happen.

[Coryn]

It would take several days for Coryn to realise just how integral the conversation currently taking place before her was in determining her future. Of course she was aware that numbers were being thrown around, prices that were an estimate of her worth.

Her worth!

And yet still Coryn felt numb, separated from the world around her. She remained silent, but behind her teeth her tongue shaped those last words: I am more than worth the trouble. Why had she said that? Of course she knew one reason: to protect herself, but why had she chosen those specific words? They were dangerous, they carried a heavy promise that Coryn was not entirely convinced she could fulfil. What would be expected of her to prove her worth?

For that matter, where were they planning on selling her? Was it possible to sell a person?

Distracted, she looked away from the men that surrounded her and inspected the faces of her fellow captured slaves. Only when she saw the small, dirty-faced boy, did she think of Michael. His eyes were red, his face absolutely filthy from, she guessed, being shoved to the ground. His mother was behind him, but her hands were limp at her sides no matter how many times Michael pawed at her tattered dress. Coryn suddenly became infuriated by the mother’s incessant lack of care about her son. It was easy to imagine how Michael’s mother had reacted to the attack, scolding the lad for his fear while at the same time bartering shoving him into the arms of some black-toothed dog.

He needs my protection, she considered carefully, drawing her attention away from Michael’s fearful face and back towards the discussion around her. In the interim of her daydreaming, the man she titled Venger (among all other sorts of unpleasant names she called him in her mind) was standing before her. The deal had been done, whatever conclusion had been reached. She barely heard his words, though the promise of time did register somewhere in the depths of her concentration. Instead the Ethaefal was too distracted, staring at his face and the crevices and cuts that puckered and misshaped it. Not for the first time, she wondered why she had been lumped with a kidnapper who looked so horrid.

But there he was, scars and ugliness and all. She needed him. And for that reason alone, Coryn detested him.

“Coryn.” She said eventually, her violet eyes dark with determination and rebellion. “My name is Coryn.” As an after thought, she swept a hand towards her naked form, “you should know something, as I guess you don’t already know, that I change appearance in the daytime. During the day, I appear as a—” She grimaced, as if this next admittance was more painful than anything else she had endured that day, “-blonde.”

[Konrad Venger]

"Gedyer 'ands off!"

Semyon was just about to close his hands around the purse on the half-naked man in armor when a kick sent him flying away from his prize. Not the first time that had happened, though. He rolled as his shoulder smacked into the dirt and came up with a knife in his hand-

-then saw who had kicked him. And what he was holding.

"I killed 'im," Konrad said with just the right amount of snarl in his voice, pointing first at Semyon with his kopis, then at the corpse. "So I get his shyke. Problem wi' that?"

"... nah. Fuckin' enjoy yerself."

The ear-pierced merc slouched away with his best "I'mma Make You Pay" glare, but all it did was make Konrad smirk. The long pause before his answer was far more enlightening. Semyon could see the balance had shifted somewhat. Konrad Venger. The man who had the ear of the chief. Could talk to Fangor. Persuade him. Came up with plans, made them work.

Not to mention, seemed petching hard to kill, too.

Let them believe that.

Her, too. Coryn.

Konrad growled softly as he forced her face and her voice and her petching name from his mind yet again. He'd gone from corpse to corpse, the three others he'd ended that night, managing to keep her at bay the whole time. This was his reward, after all. Not just the girl or the respect or another night alive where so many had died, but the spoils. A whole campsite, ripe for the taking.

Damned if I'll be missing my cut-

"Anythin' good?"

He turned and found Three Eyes standing there, curious look on his face... and a mess of bracelets and necklaces around one wrist. Clever boy. He hadn't been just looking for purses. Konrad glanced from him to the purse, tossed it up and down to weight it-

Not bad. Not great. The other three were good enough. So...

-and tossed it over.

"Wus'at for?"

"'ad my back. Back there. Wi' Fangor."

Three Eyes smiled, but just with one corner of his mouth. Konrad knew that look; he'd known it since the dumpy little sod had been "Snake", instead of Three Eyes, and he wanted you to know he wasn't just a ball of dough with a blade. He had a brain. Instincts. An understanding of the animal hierarchies of men such as them. He'd stayed with Konrad... and Venger was almost certain it hadn't been to plant a dagger in his back.

"You make me money," he said simply, tossing up the purse and catching it again. "Why wouldn't I?"

Konrad straightened up and spied the tent the half-naked man had lurched from. He had time before they needed to leave. But before he left, he clapped Three Eyes on the shoulder and gave him his best facsimile of a comradely smile.

"Remember that."

Around Konrad, the rest of the party was doing the same; a pack of victorious jackals on a bloated carcass. Sellswords were combing through tents and packs, Fangor and two others loading a wagon with any cargo they could. The slaves? Petch 'em, they could walk.

The Drykas were rounding up the horses in their own inimitable way, fastening rein after rein to the back of the wagon... along with the biggest, sturdiest ox they found.

"Lots of meat," the Elder explained when Fangor questioned hi, fondly patting a broad, sweaty flank like a hairy wall. "When we get back. We kill, we cut up, smoke and salt. Food for days."

Konrad's goals were narrower, but just as useful to him. He let out a short shout of victory as he found a quiver of bolts under the ersatz-Knight's bed, along with a crossbow. But not one as fine as the heavy killing machine strapped to his own back, so he left it for some other scavenger to find. The bolts, though? Well, he'd fired off a couple that evening. Best not to let them run too low.

A flash of color caught his eyes. Tossed aside among the detritus and trash left behind after some mercenary or another had ripped through the tent. They'd taken a few things, he could tell, but that? No. What would have been the point? But Konrad knew someone who'd appreciate-

"Here."

-a dress was tossed into Coryn's naked lap and at once the slaves flanking her jerked away from the girl; or more accurately, the scarred brute who'd tossed it there. Konrad looked down as the woman perused the item, a simple but well-kept dress of flower-petal white and honey yellow, easily large enough for her.

"We don't sell shitty stock," Konrad said bluntly, obliterating the confusion in many minds as they watched the scene. Ah. Well. That made sense. "Wear it. Keep yourself covered."

Konrad watched as the girl struggled with the garment, trying to get his head around how her hair could change from so burnished and thick and midnight, to summery as a mid-Syna day at the middle of the year. Well, he thought with a mental shrug, you'll know come the morning.

"A petching Ethaefal." Fangor said for about the twentieth time, arms crossed and head shaking with wonder as his men put torches to the last, useless standing items in the camp. The corpses were left where they were, many stripped of their armor. The sellswords liked a little extra protection, too. "Twice. Twice I've seen the like, in thirty years. Now I can make it thrice."

"Yer welcome."

He turned and there was Venger, petching smile on that wasteland of a face, and gods if it wasn't almost infectious. Yeah. Like pox. The two of them shared a chuckle and Fangor looked around, seeing where his ragged squadron was at.

Corywn's home burned around her. Tents she'd talked and twittered in. Firesides she's shared stories and been proposed around. Men who'd mooned over her like boys, women who'd tittered jealously about her or admired her pluck in a man's world. All of it was ruined, laid bare to be eaten by flame and pest and animal, not even accorded the respect of burial.

Konrad spat as he lit his pipe, watching the fires start their feast in earnest. Next to him, Fangor raised his bronze warhammer high and bellowed for them to get on the move. Wagon and horse and ox and slave and sellsword heeded his call. K cast one more look behind him. She wore the dress. Clever. That she had recognized the need for protection, and obeyed. But... no. Still black hair.

He shrugged. He could wait.

Loot

• X amount of mizas from three purses from the men Konrad killed (originally four, minus the one he tossed to Three Eyes as a "bonus")
• X number of crossbow bolts looted from the guards, added to Konrad's own quiver
• Simple sundress, white and yellow, given to Coryn

[Jasmine Stormblood]

So sorry with how long it took guys! I got super busy the last few days. Let me know if you have any questions guys! Oh and I got Prophet to help double check the loot so all loot is AS approved!

 

Konrad Venger

XP

• Socialization: 4 XP
• Stealth: 2 XP
• Observation: 3 XP
• Persuation: 2 XP
• Brawling: 1 XP
• Scavenging: 1 XP
• Intimidation: 2 XP
• Weapon: Crossbow- 1 XP
• Weapon: Kopis- 1 XP

Lores

• Konrad: possessive of Coryn
• Konrad: ambituos
• Konrad: excells at persuation
• Ethaeful: fetch a high price as slaves
• Coryn: beautiful and mysterious
• Crossbow: excellent at long distance fighting
• Kopis: only scratches armor

Miscellaneous

• Mizas + | 87 SM 91 CM
• 27 Crossbow Bolts
• 1 Light Horse

 

Coryn

XP

• Socialization: 5 XP
• Observation: 2 XP
• Brawling: 1 XP
• Cooking: 1 XP
• Storytelling: 1 XP
• Cosmetology: 1 XP
• Acting: 1 XP
• Persuation: 1 XP

Lores

• Coryn:not super sociable
• Brawling: elbow to the nose
• Micheal: needs Coryn
• Guards are picky about their food rations

Miscellaneous

• 1 Simple Sundress (yellow and white)